


Nuclear Soulmates

by holyshit



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Spoilers, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyshit/pseuds/holyshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine instances of the friendship between Deacon and the Sole Survivor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nuclear Soulmates

**One**

In the Railroad, there was no such thing as permanence. Things that should’ve been stable and secure--like headquarters, plans, and people--very rarely ever were. It was the safest way to run their kind of organization. Before Sole, Deacon almost thought he had been used to it.

Deacon and Sole were the only two in the Railroad that operated together so often and so well. They could both function on their own or with others, of course, but PAM found that they worked with a much higher efficiency when together.

Of course, there was the usual instance in which PAM believed it best that they go separately. The first few times, Deacon had responded with a dramatic hand over his eyes, and a cry of, “No, don’t take her from me! Oh, god, what will I do without you??” Sole would respond with equal drama, though she always ended up laughing while Deacon kept the act up.

But as the fight against the Institute became bigger and more dangerous, so too did their individual runs. Once Sole had been sent out on a run that should’ve taken three days, but she didn’t return for seven. Deacon begged to go after her, and almost snuck out, but Desdemona knew she couldn’t lose them both.

Sole finally came stumbling into HQ, bandaged and bruised. She pushed past everyone, even Desdemona, until she was in Deacon’s arms. They held each other as fiercely as Sole’s injuries would allow, Deacon glaring at any members that stared at them.

Since then, whenever Deacon and Sole had to split, Deacon would kiss Sole on the cheek. It was often exaggerated, more of a raspberry than a kiss. Sometimes Deacon would have to chase after Sole before she left, but he would always catch her, pinching her cheeks and kissing them. Sole scrunched up her nose and laughed as they parted. Deacon found himself up in the Church praying that that wouldn’t be the last time he saw her.

Other times, however, on especially dangerous missions, the kiss would last longer. Deacon would cup Sole’s jawline with his hands, his fingers deep in her hair, and press long, solemn kisses along her cheekbone. Sole rubbed soft circles into the small of Deacon’s back. Before they let each other go, Sole would kiss the edge of Deacon’s chin.

As they separated, both of their minds bounced between wanting and refusing to think the absolute worst. Deacon wondered if he would change his face if he lost Sole, and if so, what would he have the doctor do to his kissed chin. 

\--- 

**Two**

Deacon’s specialty (among all the other specialties he proclaimed to have) was confusing the hell out of other Railroad members. He changed his face, made up wild stories, and worked on independent missions, all of which left the Railroad not knowing what to think of him.

Deacon was so used to it he almost didn’t notice the gradual influx of gossip. Almost everyone in HQ was whispering about how Deacon and Sole--with how they hugged, pretended, and laughed with each other--must have been a couple. Drummer Boy, after losing a bet, was made to go and ask Sole.

“Are you…” Drummer mumbled, loosening his jaw, “Y’know, you and Deacon. Are you, uh, a couple?”

Sole stared at Drummer Boy for a while, processing the information, before bursting into laughter. It was the loudest and most surprised laughter that had probably ever graced the catacombs of the Old North Church, and everyone turned to look. Drummer Boy, usually so composed, shook his head, a pink hue in his cheeks.

Once Sole had calmed down, not caring about the fact that everyone was looking at her, she began to seriously think on the question. Finally, she just furrowed her brow and giggled, “Ew! Me and Deacon??”

From across the room, Deacon gagged loudly in response, his hands around his throat.

No one asked again, though they did continue to gossip.

\--- 

**Three**

The Railroad was an organization that never rested. No matter the time of day, someone was always running out the back entrance on a new mission. This resulted in people sleeping wherever they fell. Mattresses littered the corners of HQ, and if they were big enough, people shared them without thinking much of it.

Deacon and Sole, though, always ended up on a mattress together. They’d come back from a mission, joking about Deacon trying to use Shakespearean insults before he fell over his own feet, or how Sole had almost gotten herself killed trying to steal Fancy Lads. Their conversation would keep going as they found a place to lay down, and would last until one of them fell asleep.

But it was never just back-to-back or side-to-side sleeping. It was often spooning, holding hands, or Deacon’s head in Sole’s lap, if they had enough room. But what they did the most was full-on cuddling. They’d lay on the hard, smelly mattresses, face each other, and fall asleep in a messy hug.

Deacon couldn’t help but remember how alone he had sometimes felt in the Railroad. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t loyal. Deacon was ready to give his life to the Railroad’s cause and to a small few of its members. But no one had understood him so much until Sole. Deacon knew that, if anything should happen, he would never feel the same waking up without Sole’s hair in his face, without one of his arms asleep under her weight.

\--- 

**Four**

It wasn’t insomnia, per se. It was more of a learned behavior that was impossible to unlearn. Deacon hadn’t slept deeply, or even comfortably, since he had last been knocked unconscious. There had been so many situations in which Deacon’s life had depended on his battle between being aware and needing to sleep. If Deacon had his way, he would never sleep at all.

He could go weeks without sleeping, and the most he ever got in one night usually didn’t go past four hours. It wasn’t healthy for him, he knew that. Hell, between his smoking habit, lack of sleep, and high-stress job, it was a wonder his heart hadn’t given out already. And maybe it would’ve, if it hadn’t been for Sole.

Every once in awhile, sometimes randomly, sometimes after an especially difficult mission, Sole would stop and look at Deacon. She’d reach up, push his sunglasses up onto his forehead, and look at him.

Sole sucked her teeth, then smiled softly, “You need some sleep.” And she didn’t mean Deacon’s usual catnap.

Deacon would usually let out a loud, dramatic groan, even though he knew Sole would win. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, he just… Didn’t want to worry about himself when he had so much to do in the Railroad. But soon enough, Sole had him at the old Red Rocket by Sanctuary.

Sole had set up her base in Red Rocket almost immediately after she thawed out. In the garage sat an old suit of power armor, and in the backroom was an old terminal and a bed. It was by no means the most comfortable (or nicest smelling) bed in the Commonwealth. It was by no means in an absolutely safe location. And sleeping in it offered no true escape from the Railroad’s fight against the Institute. Everything about it screamed “sleep with one eye open” to Deacon. That was why it wasn’t the bed that got him to sleep.

It wasn’t even the old pajamas that Sole brought that made him sleep. No, it was the magic in her voice, in her stories. You didn’t have to be around Deacon long to know that he was fascinated by the Old World. Despite the anger he felt at the sheer stupidity of the Great War, he was fascinated by the life and culture that was lost. Lost, that is, but for Sole. Sole would sit on the edge of the bed, hold his hand, and tell him Old World stories.

Stories about the little, mundane things--like the differences between oil-powered cars and nuclear-powered cars, or how robots were once useful contributors to human life.

“And I know you’ll find this hard to believe,” Sole went on, smirking, “But Mr. Handys actually weren’t programmed to go crazy and kill people.”

Deacon chuckled, somewhere between the story and sleeping, “Except for the one in that old junkyard… Y’know, the one that almost sawed your arm off.”

“What about Codsworth?” Sole countered, “He acts just like he did before the war.”

Deacon smiled with his eyes closed, lacing his fingers with Sole’s, “Didn’t know Codsworth was battling mole rats and bloodbugs even before the bombs.”

Sole would also delve into history. She explained why a “John Hancock” meant a signature, told just how long the Great Wall of China had been, and some of the history of the Freedom Trail sites.

What most interested Deacon was Sole’s everyday life. Though he was always ready to learn more about how it was living in such a time, he knew that it hurt Sole to remember what she could never return to.

“You know how many times you’re supposed to brush your teeth a day?” she asked, her smile touched with a faraway-ness.

“You’re ‘supposed to’? Did they have a science for this?”

Sole laughed, “Yeah. And it’s twice a day.”

“How is anyone supposed to have the means to brush twice a day?” Deacon asked, talking more in his sleep than anything else. It was so hard to imagine having sanitary plumbing that Deacon often forget it had ever existed in the first place.

Sole would gloss over the terrors brought on by the war, even though Deacon could tell each time she did. Sole did it not just for her own sake, but because she wanted Deacon to be able to view at least some of the world through rose-colored glasses, even if that part of the world no longer existed.

Eventually Deacon drifted off to sleep, envisioning perfect prewar life, like the kind on the tattered, sunbleached billboards. He wondered what Fancy Lads Snack Cakes tasted like fresh and without radiation. He wondered what color lipstick Sole had liked the best, and just how brightly the cars had gleamed under the pre-apocalypse sun.

\--- 

**Five**

Sole was, and had always been, full of smiles, silly faces, and sarcastic remarks. The only thing more impossible to find than non-irradiated food was the sort of kindness that Sole gave out freely. It worried Deacon endlessly. Too many people would take advantage of that goodness, no matter how armed Sole was.

But underneath all that goodness, behind that white, pre war smile, was Sole’s undeniable sadness. It had taken a long time for Deacon to find it. But he had woken up to Sole’s thousand-yard stare enough times to know.

“Not to sound too cliche,” Sole often tried to joke, “But it was a fucking nightmare. I crawled out of that Vault, and I thought I was in hell.”

Sometimes, Sole would cry. Waking up in the Commonwealth, the only place worse than hell, was enough to do that.

“You couldn’t have done anything.” Deacon whispered, brushing back the tears that were cutting lines through the grime on Sole’s face.

“That’s the worst part,” Sole went on, “Now, I can run around with my gun, beat up raiders, try to deliver whatever fucked up kinda Commonwealth justice…” she shook her head, rubbed her eyes, hoping that she’d blink and wake up back in 2077. “But I couldn’t--can’t--save the world.”

Deacon would laugh kindly, trying to find a smile in her, “Save the world? Compared to saving me, that job’s kinda small, don’t you think?”

\--- 

**Six**

The newest gossip around HQ had to do with the fact that Deacon hadn’t changed his face since Sole had joined up. There had been a time in which Deacon changed his looks almost weekly, and now he had gone months without one. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it. With his overactive paranoia and anxiety, it was hard not to evaluate all of his possible escape routes.

But Deacon, who had run and hid everything he was at least a dozen times over, just couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe if something went catastrophically wrong, he would go under the knife again. But as everything stood, he liked having the face that Sole had come to recognize as her best friend.

However, constantly having the same face and the same partner could prove to be dangerous. Well, it could, if Deacon and Sole weren’t so damn good at their jobs. Whether they were acting as siblings, employer and employee, or random strangers, they always got the information they needed and were very rarely ever caught. Compromised, yes, but never caught.

Today they were Monsieur and Madame Sottises, a rich couple that had gone on vacation to the upper stands of Diamond City. Stuffed underneath the expensive dress that Sole had “borrowed” was rolled up Brahmin hide. Madame Sottises was hugely pregnant and wanting to buy clothes for her bundle of joy. Every upper stands lady flocked to her, of course, bringing with them a substantial amount of gossip, or as Deacon liked to put it, valuable intel.

“Mon chér,” Sole called, “Which do you prefer, ze pink or ze lavender?”

Deacon turned to look at the two baby sweaters in Sole’s hands. If he weren’t acting, he would bring up the fact that the second one was much more blue than it was lavender. But today, he was the all-too dismissive Monsieur Sottises.

“Whatever you desire, mon petit chou!” He responded, making sure every wealthy gentleman in the vicinity heard him, “All zat matters to me is your happiness.”

As the ladies squealed and Sole blew him a kiss, Deacon turned back to the group he was chatting with. Mockingly, he added, “And zat you stop bothering me!”

The “gentlemen” responded with hearty laughter, passing Deacon a glass of wine as they remarked on how their wives also drove them crazy.

Hiding his disgust as well as he could, Deacon went on, “So, about ze Mayor… Is he really a, eh, synth, as you say?”

\--- 

**Seven**

Deacon prided himself on his stealth abilities. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been caught while sneaking around. Yeah, he had a pretty big mouth, but he could clam up when he had to. But sometimes, his mouth just stopped working, usually when he desperately needed it to.

Deacon and Sole had been on their way to collect a dead drop. They’d had to sneak through a Super Mutant camp, and everything had been going perfectly fine. Fine enough for them to joke about it, see how close they could get to a sleeping Mutant without waking it up. They’d been having a lot of fun, until a Hound caught their scent.

Deacon had been in some pretty tight situations before, but being in the epicenter of a battle against a Super Mutant horde was definitely up there. Somewhere in the midst of bullets and bloodshed, Deacon and Sole lost each other. The fighting had been going on for almost an hour before a Mutant Suicider forced silence upon the scene.

Now Deacon was stumbling through the wreckage, the loose, green limbs and blood, trying desperately to get sound out of his mouth. Deacon had been on the other side of the compound when the bomb went off, but it had still knocked him flat on his back. He watched Mutants be torn apart and flung at him. After he’d pulled himself from the carnage and stuck a stimpak in his arm, he hadn’t felt he had any option but to search.

Deacon had assumed it would’ve been easy to find human remains among Mutant limbs and blood. But given that he hadn’t found anything in… how long? An hour? A minute? How long had he been searching?

There, underneath a Supermutant leg, was Sole’s gun. Deacon picked it up. It was still warm, but whether from battle or blood he couldn’t tell. He realized he was running. Running, trying, but still unable to speak or think.

How many people had died horribly trying to help the Railroad? Nevermind the Railroad, how many people had died by just existing in the Commonwealth? By just trying to lead their lives? And what kind of fucked up karma system decided that Deacon should still survive when so many died? Maybe karma wasn’t that fucked up after all. It planned to have Deacon’s guilt eventually crush him to death.

Deacon noticed the tears on his face at the same time he noticed the hands shaking his shoulders. There was a gun in his hand--was it his gun?--and a stimpak hanging empty from his arm. It wobbled as he was shaken, and there was a voice calling his name.

“Deacon. Deacon, please, god, just look at me.”

Deacon felt his eyes begin to work again, but his mouth remained useless even as Sole’s face came into view.

“You’re in shock, Deacon.” Sole explained, her eyes trying to catch his. His sunglasses, which had somehow survived the blast, were in her hand. She was real. “I’m here. Look at me.”

Deacon looked at her, looked at his tearstained face reflected in her eyes. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re here.” He whispered.

There would be many times after that in which one of them would disappear into unable-to-speak/see/think/believe shock. But they’d stand close, foreheads together, until they could both affirm that “I’m here. You’re here. Together.”

\--- 

**Eight**

They don’t try to have close encounters with death, especially after the Super Mutant Suicider experience. But when out and about in the Commonwealth, it was bound to happen. Somewhere between Goodneighbor and The Combat Zone, raiders ambushed Deacon and Sole.

For two agents that dealt more with intel than with battle, they were doing pretty well. That is, of course, until the rest of the raider gang showed up. A sniper got Deacon, once in the side and again in the thigh. Deacon, who was always looking for places to hide a sniper anyway, quickly found him and shot him down, right before collapsing in a bloody heap.

Deacon and Sole had worked together for a long time. They’d seen each other go down before, and while neither of them enjoyed it, they knew it was an occupational hazard they had to accept. It was that factor mixed with the sheer number of raiders that prevented Sole from getting to her partner, but when she finally did…

“Oh my god!” Sole hissed, running over to Deacon. Most of the raiders had been taken care of, but those that remained were now reloading, liable to shower her in bullets at any second. Deacon’s clothes and skin were tainted crimson, and his eyes danced under his sunglasses.

Deacon wasn’t surprised that Sole was able to lift him over her shoulder, but he didn’t exactly enjoy it. Being thrown into a fireman’s carry with two bullet wounds wasn’t exactly pleasurable, and he made sure Sole knew that.

“I mean, I guess I’m lucky they didn’t blast my head off,” Deacon slurred as Sole scrambled to safety, “But still, putting me on my stomach isn’t very… um… what were you saying?”

Sole ignored him as a string of bullets flew over her head, making small dents in a far off building. A few more hit the ground by her feet, and Sole turned on a dime to a small alleyway.

After lots of running, turning, and more than enough close calls, Sole dropped Deacon on the ground, and bent down to take care of his wounds. Deacon fell like a ragdoll, and this time, it wasn’t because he was being dramatic.

“Shit,” Sole muttered, falling to her knees, patting her pockets for some stimpaks. Deacon was bleeding out fast.

“I love you.” Deacon responded immediately. Sole fumbled with the syringe, making a laugh escape from Deacon’s bloody teeth.

Both Deacon and Sole were experts of disguise and acting, but in this moment, their masks fell away. Sole, despite the fact that she worked quickly and efficiently, was obviously panicking. Deacon was somewhat afraid, but given the extreme amount of blood loss, all he could think of was Sole. Sole, with the sixty-year-old baby, the new stories from two hundred years ago, and the fading scars from yesterday.

“You put up with so much, y’know?” Deacon slurred, watching as Sole ripped the bottom half of her shirt to tie around Deacon’s wounds. It hurt like all hell, but nothing would stop Deacon from talking. “The entire population of synths is depending on you, the Commonwealth never stays calm enough for you to rest. And on top of all that, you’ve got me?”

“Yeah, Deacon.” Sole muttered, lost in saving her friend, “I got you. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I meant, you big baby.” Deacon laughed, apologizing silently by furrowing his eyebrows.

“I don’t know how you put up with a liar like me.” He went on, noticing briefly the spotiness in his vision. He stared at Sole’s panicked face. Sole was crying. Crying over him. Deacon, though he couldn’t focus on anything but Sole’s face, could not help but recount all of the terrible things he had done in the past. “I’m not worth it. Not at all.”

“Deacon, shut up.” Sole hissed, sticking another stimpak into his thigh for good measure.

“I don’t know why I keep lying to you, Sole.” Deacon slurred, “But you know I love you, right? And I love laughing with you. I love you, Sole, a whole lot.”

Deacon knew that he was becoming more stable now, despite how terrible he still felt. Sole had half of her supplies injected into his bloodstream, and though he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, deep down, he knew he would make it. But on the offchance that the Commonwealth hadn’t taken him out yet, he kept talking.

“I’m not lying. I promise.” Deacon said again, trying to brush away Sole’s tears with his gaze. For some reason, it wasn’t working. “After all, who would want their last words to be a lie?”

Sole started patching herself up, checking Deacon’s bandages a few more times. She didn’t have many stimpaks left for herself, so she relied on a Med-X for the pain. Deacon didn’t know how she did it.

“I love you, Sole.” Deacon said after some time, while both of them laid there in pain and shock. “I don’t know how you put up with me. I love you.”

“I love you too, D.”

\--- 

**Nine**

In the Railroad, there was no such thing as permanence. Yet it had been through the Railroad that Deacon had found the one constant in his life. Deacon had seen headquarters fall to ruin, he had held fellow operatives as they died. He had liked to believe that the experiences had made him more independent. After all, what use was a spy whose heart could break?

Regardless of whether or not he was more independent, Deacon now knew that he couldn’t go back to being alone again. Of course he had a soft spot for the Railroad family, and he had dedicated his life to saving synths. But Deacon couldn’t deny that his heart belonged to his best friend Sole.

But Deacon being Deacon, he couldn’t acknowledge his dependence on Sole without wondering why in the hell she stuck with him. Deacon was an actor, a pretender, most of all a liar. He had hurt people in the past, and he would never forget it. And while Sole wasn’t without her faults, Deacon still marveled at her. Her initial chances of just surviving in the Commonwealth had been slim, but staying so true to who she was? Always with a smile on her face, always out to help people. Deacon didn’t know how she fucking did it.

And Deacon didn’t like not knowing. He was still himself--jokes, sarcasm, and all--but it was gnawing away at him. And of course, it didn’t take long for Sole to notice.

They were picking up a dead drop near Bunker Hill. It was around midnight. The Commonwealth sky shown with bright stars, and the humid air moved across their skin with its cold touch.

They walked in silence, Sole reaching out to hold Deacon’s hand. It wasn’t really safe to walk hand in hand. If they were ambushed or had to split up, it was just another thing to worry about doing. But Deacon pushed those anxious thoughts from his mind to lace his fingers with Sole’s.

“You’re my best friend, Deacon.” Sole said very quietly but truthfully, as though what she were saying didn’t present itself as an impossibility to Deacon.

“Yeah?” Deacon returned, “Why’s that?”

Sole chuckled, “What do you mean? You’re my best friend. All there is to it.”

“Y’know, for ‘The Savior of the Commonwealth’ or whatever,” Deacon smirked, “You’ve got a shitty taste in best friends.”

Sole stopped walking. Deacon continued on a few steps before turning to look not at her, but at their hands clasped in the distance between them. His sunglasses, that he kept on even now in the dark, kept him from making dangerous eye contact.

It was dangerous because Deacon knew that Sole knew. She could tell what he was feeling, no matter what. It was something he couldn’t lie about, which not only caused him a huge amount of anxiety, but also made him wonder how he, of all people, could’ve gotten so close to someone.

Deacon felt his anxiety push words out of his mouth. Whatever kept this silence at bay. “I’m the Commonwealth’s biggest liar. Hell, you don’t even know my first name, much less…”

Sole wouldn’t stop looking at him, wouldn’t drop her gaze, “Much less what?”

Deacon, always so calm and nonchalant, felt his face burn. His stomach turned to a mess of knots, and his teeth clenched painfully. “Forget it, Sole. What matters is that you don’t know.”

Sole was surprisingly calm, which only made Deacon’s insides turn more rapidly. She studied his face, more plastic than flesh, before turning to look at the Commonwealth sky, more radiation than ozone. Deacon’s face and the nightsky: two mismatched products of the apocalypse, two of the limited things that Sole loved.

“I’m not someone who doesn’t know.” Sole said.

Deacon smirked, but his voice was tired, “What’s that mean, boss?”

“People tell me things.” Sole went on, “The Commonwealth fucks everyone up, and we all know that, but people keep their secrets. They keep secrets for years, they meet me, and suddenly I’m their confidant.” Sole smiled, “And if post-apocalyptic drama isn’t enough for you, I also figured out how to get into The Institute. Something not even you could do.”

Deacon now risked a glance up at Sole’s face. Even under his sunglasses, it felt dangerous to do so now. This whole conversation was a minefield, but Deacon pushed himself to take another step. “What are you getting at?”

Sole took a deep breath, but smiled all the same. Of all her smiles, all her disguises and painfully mask-free faces, this face was her most sincere. It could not lie. “I don’t need to know the whole truth about you, Deacon. I still love you. I don’t care if you were the worst possible person in the past, because I know you now. I know you, even if I don’t know everything about you. You’re my best friend, always will be.”

Deacon, who always, always had something to say, found himself without words. Speechlessness turned into tears, holding hands turned into holding each other. Deacon had believed that he was incapable of crying--whether by surgery or radiation. But there he was, sobbing into Sole’s shoulder, letting go of everything.

Love was so hard to come by that it seemed a pre war relic, and Sole had brought him what she had left of it. In exchange, Deacon gave her his tears, whispers of the name he was born with, and a long list of almost forgotten memories. She hadn’t needed them, but now that she had them, she loved him still.

Together, they wrote a new chapter not only for the Commonwealth, but also for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I wish we could've had the option to romance Deacon, I love the dynamic of friendship between him and Sole. They're platonic soulmates.


End file.
